#at last her spirit roams around the milky way now

[leftoversludge]

just learned about felicette, the cat that france sent to space in 1963. she survived but 2 months later they euthanized her to examine the brain !!! what the heck bro !!! justice for felicette ⚔️⚔️⚔️

[the-chanteloup]

InuYasha RP Bio

Omg. I’m alive! Things have been so hectic, I forgot I had a Tumblr! Silly me. Well, I’ve returned, and with that return, I give you my finalized InuYasha RP bio! 

So, I created this character about 18 years ago when InuYasha first aired on Adult Swim. I debuted her on Yahoo!Chat, and when that died, she sort of went into hibernation. With the series coming out, and this sudden surge of InuYasha, I really wanted to finalize her, and get her out into the world. :3  

Name (last, first): Setsuna ( Of the Karyukai, The Flower and Willow World )

Nickname(s): Hanyou, Runt, Pup, Geisha

Age: 55 (Youthful appearance, commonly mistaken for 20-25)

Species: Half-Dog Demon, Half-Human (Hanyou)

Gender: Female

Birthday: Around the Winter Solstice

Life Story:

Left on the doorstep of an orphanage in the village of Sawara, in a shabby reed basket during a harsh winter was not the ideal beginning, but, all great legends must start somewhere. Luckily, warm hearts were in good spirits this cold night, and the overseers of this particular orphanage just couldn’t leave a bright eyed, bundle of joy out in the elements. Brought in out of the cold, and raised alongside human children, the pup never really knew she was different, other than having two black fluffy ears atop her head. As she grew, she was given a general education along with the other children, nothing fancy since they were considered the lower class, but enough to get her by should she ever take to selling turnips.

Unfortunately, all fairy tales have to end, and when her 16th year rolled around, she was tossed out into the world to fend for herself.

Being a small Hanyou had its benefits job wise, roaming gangs of thieves were always willing to have her tag along for heists, at a quarter of the profit for most of the dangerous work. But fate is a fickle mistress, and while perusing through a shop during a heist one night, she was detained by an older man named Ino Tadataka, with nun chucks. How embarrassing. She didn’t need superb Demon hearing to know her comrades had bailed, leaving her the scapegoat. However, before she could decide which hand she was okay with having chopped off, the old man offered her a deal. She would assist him in mapping some of the harder to reach places in the area, and in return he would house her, feed her and teach her to read.

Since climbing trees for an old man was a much better option than losing a limb, she hastily agreed, and spent many years assisting “Old Man Ino”, as she called him, in completing his map of Japan.

In the Spring of her last month with Ino, he referred her to an old friend in a village called Kanazawa in the Western Lands for another job. With no other real work leads, other than going back to stealing, she took the lead. When she arrived at the mapped destination Ino had given her, it turned out to be an exotic tea house. She swore on all the Gods above and below that she would knock the taste out of that old pervert’s mouth for this. As she stood outside making her proclamation to bash an old man’s head in, she was interrupted by the tea house’s 'mother', Kikuya. Seeing a rare opportunity to be the only tea house in the district with a Hanyou entertaining, Kikuya took her in instantly.

Amazingly, after several rough years of learning, she was finally “promoted” to the highest rank, Geisha.

Fast forward a few short years, just a few months from fully paying off her debt, she is one of the more popular girls advertised at the tea house. Fully skilled in playing the kokyū, flirting with men in a proper way, starting and losing games of Janken or Daruma Otoshi gracefully, and pouring hot tea in hazardous ways, courtesy of her quick Hanyou reflexes, she has acquired several frequent guests.

A Samurai named Yorimoto quickly became her favorite “customer”, and though they saw each other as nothing more than siblings, she developed a connection to the Human. He was never short on adventurous stories about fighting, and war, which she soaked up like a sponge, enjoying the romantic way he told of their honor code. Being half-Demon, she was naturally drawn to weapons and all their convenient ways of killing things, and eventually convinced Yorimoto to teach her how to use the Naginata. Unfortunately, it was highly un-Geisha like to swing around a “blade on a stick”, as her mother called it, so, under the guise of certain services, they met and trained. Several months passed, and her Samurai was called away to battle, but before he left, Yorimoto gifted her a Naginata all her own, for emergencies, of course.

Even though she was content to stay at her tea house and practice her Naginata in peace until the day when she could afford to open her own business, she also wouldn’t mind a little bit of adventure sneaking in and stirring things up.  

Appearance:

Setsuna stands an intimidating five feet tall at her black ear tips, which has earned her the nickname “Runt”. Thanks to her Demon genetics, despite her small stature, she is sturdily built, muscular and has a curvy frame. She is a milky skinned Hanyou with loosely curled raven black hair that trails down to her rear, and cobalt blue, cat like eyes rimmed in coal eyeliner. Her ears are slightly fluffy, and sport two small silver hoops in each, a gift from her Geisha mother, Kikuya. Her claws are a soft pearl color; however, they are kept at a shorter length due to her kokyū playing and aesthetics for the tea house, but they still remain filed to a point and sharp.

Her only truly intimidating feature is a deep, guttural growl that could easily be mistaken for a much larger demon. Setsuna’s normal attire is that of a typical Geisha, minus the white makeup. Elaborate silk kimonos and obis, along with jeweled hair trinkets and pins. Her hair is never tied up, allowing her ears to remain out in the open. When she is training with the Naginata, she dons a black hakama, with a royal blue sash around her waist. Setsuna is almost always barefoot as she likes the feel of Earth on her skin.

Like all Hanyou, she reverts to a mortal Human form on the night of the new moon. She becomes weaker, as she loses all of her Demon abilities. Her hair fades to a dusty blonde color, and her eyes dull to a pale gray.  

Personality:

Setsuna is usually the center of the party. Having trained with her Geisha mother, she can strike up conversations easily with almost anyone. She has a laid-back demeanor, seeming to just roll with the punches. A smile of some sort is usually found on her face, giving her an easy to approach look. She has an old wisdom about her, and is always available to offer advice or find an answer to a question. She tends to have a soft spot for animals and children, but she prefers both go home with someone else. Her one true weakness is a field of wild flowers, or flowers of any kind. Though she hates to admit it, she’s a sucker for romance and intimate physical touches.

Unfortunately, with a decent amount of Demon blood in her veins, Setsuna is not the quiet, demure creature one would expect when they see her in full Geisha attire. Having been raised by thieves, her mouth is dirtier than a sewer grate, and her mind has been likened to that of a lecherous old man’s. Even with traditionally excitable genetics, she is calm, collected, and calculating, preferring her enemies to either make fools of themselves or to wander right into her trap. Though she has never been in a true battle, the canine in her usually wishes a mother fucker would so she could let her Naginata bathe in blood. Of course, that doesn’t mean she goes looking for a fight, but should one happen to peek around a corner….

Good Habit(s):

She is very understanding, and a good listener. No problem is too dramatic, or small for her ears. She offers honest advice (This could be good or bad) She is fiercely loyal to those who have earned it. Her colorful background and lifestyle have given her a wealth of wisdom and knowledge, both useful and not.  

Bad Habit(s):

Hot headed, she finds a boiling point rather quickly over certain things. Decently excitable, the World is a big adventure to a young Hanyou. Territorial, what’s hers is hers. Cursing bad enough to make perverts blush.

Like(s):

Walking in the forest, feeling the sun on her skin and the Earth on her bare feet. Having her hair done/played with. Food. Training with her Naginata. Playing the kokyū. Listening to stories, mostly battle and war stories. Thunderstorms at night. Wildflower fields.

Special Powers/Abilities:

Aside from the typical Hanyou speed, flexibility and agility, she has a natural ability to hide and camouflage herself due to her small stature. She’s also decently formidable in a fist fight. Intimidating low, guttural growl usually used for intimidation. Rapid healing.

Ambition/Life-long Dream:

Even though she longs for the thrill of battle, a more reasonable ambition would be to finally pay off her debts to Kikuya, and to open her own tea house that specializes in ‘unique’ Geishas like herself.

Love Interest:

Unknown.  

Occupation/Job:

Geisha, entertainer, Hanyou

Notes:

Now, I know y'all who follow the series are looking at me like, "Uh...THAT NAME IS FAMILIAR" And, yeah, I know, trust me. I had a moment when the official announcement was made, but when I created Setsuna, I actually used the name from the manga Angel Sanctuary ( showing my age here ), and this character was never meant to follow any sort of canon story line, ever, she was always strictly AU. With all that being said, please don't come for me. xD I am smol and anxiety ridden. I really just wanted to have her bio published, because I love this little shit of a Hanyou. She was one of my very first creations and holds a pretty special place in my cold black heart. A few more notes: I'm totally up for RP! Feel free to send me a note or whatever. I'm pretty laid-back, and open to most scenarios.

I usually ship Setsuna with Sesshomaru, because it's adorable, but, I’m open to any ship.  

She has no art. Like I said, this has been a long time coming, so I haven't had any art of her commissioned, but maybe in the near future I will. ( -eyeballs the extremely talented @destinyfall) But, I can give you details and photo references if you decide you would like to RP.

[mzargentum]

The Stormsender’s Daughter | Chapter XXII | In Your Eyes

Chapter XXI | Chapter XXII | Chapter XXIII

Warnings: Light angst.

Word Count: 2,062

The sun was saying goodbye for the night.

The hours blended together.

Galahd had barely said a word since they left the village.

She merely stared toward the direction of the mountain range that was long gone.

Muerlin appeared to be asleep for most of the trip. her head leaned back over the side of the truck bed. Her elbows resting against it as well.

But was only in a light mediation.

Assuming the girl did not feel like speaking after the ordeal they faced, she didn’t find much reason to intervene with her moments of peace.

After a while, the subtle lull of the truck roaming over the gravel roads nearly had Muerlin dozing off.

Realizing this, she stirred herself from slumber, finally speaking to the distant girl desperately trying to stay awake. 

“How long’re you gonna stare at nothing?”

The wizard stretched her limbs. Briefly catching a mere side eye from the girl.

She didn’t respond.

“What? You think Dion and Birdie’s ghost is gonna come eat you or something?”

“I’m sorry, is there a dualhorn nearby or is that you speaking?,” the girl retorted in irritation.

“Nahh, just me,” the wizard casually responded to the insult. “If it was a dualhorn, we’d be in for a fine feast tonight”.

The girl merely rolled her eyes.

“Y’know, it wouldn’t kill you to loosen up a little bit,” Muerlin smirked. “You are free, y’know”.

“What? And leave all the thinking to you?”, the girl scoffed. “No thanks I might as well go back”.

“Wouldn’t that make you gloriously thought out plan just a heaping pile of shit though?”, the wizard chuckled.

“Do you ever take anything seriously?!”, the girl finally turned toward the wizard and snapped.

“This is life or death, you know! We don’t have time to relax. We NEVER have time to relax! We have to remain on our toes at all times or who knows what kind of trouble you could get us into?!”

“Me? Really? Are you sure it’s not the girl screaming her head off right now about to blow our cover?”, the relaxed wizard beamed.

The girl now realizing she’s standing in the back of the truck.

The occupants of the few trucks beside them staring at her in suspicion and annoyance.

With cheeks flushed, she quickly returned to her seat crossing her arms.

“Idiot”, she growled under her breath sending the wizard into a light giggle fit.

“At any rate, it’s not like we can do much until we get to where we’re going”, Muerlin added, “which is where exactly?”

“This particular truck is sent to meet a small cargo vessel by the sea. That vessel will take us to the Kingdom of Lucis”.

“Hm, and how long will it take us to get to the vessel”.

“Some of these trucks make multiple stops despite their tight schedules. Most go back toward the villages within a few weeks time, but since this one goes further the trek will be more extensive”.

“Aaaaaand would it possibly be more effective if we hitched a ride from one of the stops?”

“Not likely because this truck goes such a distance, it makes more stops than everyone else, but this is the only truck that goes toward that vessel so our estimated time of arrival if we follow the precise schedule would be about a month”.

Muerlin blinked.

“...and we have no other option...?”

“Not if you want to be there quickly”.

“Hmm,” Muerlin scrunched up her nose.

“WELL! Not much to do now, but take a load off,” the wizard kicked her feet up and leaned back in the truck bed.

A light smile lifted upon the girl’s face as she shook her head.

Returning her milky gaze toward the dimming beam of light in the distant.

                                            _______________

The truck came to a stop at a small outpost once the sun fully laid itself to rest.

The outpost had a small cafe with a few bedrooms upstairs.

With the help of Birdie’s trusty coin pouch, so graciously swiped the night before her sudden departure, Galahd was able to secure the two of them dinner and a room with a single bed.

Once they finished their meal, the two collapsed onto their bed from utter exhaustion of the hectic past few days.

After a half an hour of resting their bones...

“Galahd...you asleep?,” Muerlin asked quietly.

“No”.

“I was hoping you could help me understand something”.

The former slave lifted her face from the plush bedding to see the wizard staring at the ceiling.

“S.R.,” the wizard started. The child narrowing her gaze. “You used it as a ploy for Dion to assume Birdie was the traitor, but...that can’t possibly be the other reason, can it?”

The girl said nothing.

“I mean...you spent all that time to conduct this plan and...well, it was an awesome plan and kind of scary honestly and then you spent so much time simply just trying to humiliate and ruin Dion rather than just kill him yourself”.

“So? What does that have to do with anything?”

“Like...you wanted to make him sweat and only kind of like...scary psycho people do that instead of just focusing on escaping. I mean, you could’ve just bolted on your own while Birdie was eating chode,” Galahd grimaced at the imagery.

“...but you went out of your way to basically ruin their reputations before they...well...got killed, which is friggin’ terrifying, but then you think of what kind of person is even capable of doing such a thing and honestly, you’d have to be the most scary, evil asshole ever to do something like that,” the girl glared at the rambling wizard.

“...and evil assholes usually like to parade around their success somehow by leaving some sort of clue, but not a stupid easy clue, one where the victim has no idea,” Galahd’s eyebrow raised at the wizard’s dramatized monologuing.

“...one where he starts scratching his head wondering, pining for the secret truth, but alas, he is but unable to crack the code to save himself from the feeble demise of himself and bird whore!!!”

“Is this going anywhere?!,” the agitated girl snapped.

Muerlin halted, turning toward her wide eyed.

“What was I talking about...?”

The girl blinked.

“OH, YEAH! S.R.”

The girl stared blankly.

“As clever as it was for fooling Mr. Sequins, as far as he knew the only people that had any idea about his plan to take me for himself were him and Big Bird. Besides, you said she seemed really bothered by him suddenly changing the plan at the last minute, right?”

“Yeah,” the girl replied, “it was the perfect reason for her to betray him”.

“So, given the circumstances, he would’ve suspected her anyway”, Muerlin rose her eyebrow toward the girl whom was giving a suspicious glare.

“So?”

“So going the extra mile that you did to justify his suspicions wasn’t really necessary unless you had an ulterior motive”.

The girl could see the wizard had practically caught on. Sitting up on the bed criss crossed with her hands in her lap.

“Like what?”

“You wanted him to know who did it”, the wizard smirked playfully as she sat up in the same position, leaning toward the girl.

“You’re S.R., aren’t you?”

Galahd’s eyes narrowed further.

Muerlin rose her eyebrow curiously.

“That’s the stupidest pile of crap I’ve ever heard”.

“HA! I knew it!”, Muerlin threw her arms in the air to stretch before plopping on the pillows with her hands behind her head. Her legs crossed.

“Shut up! You don’t know anything,” the girl griped.

“Whatever you say,” Muerlin grinned. “So, I assume it’s your real name? Which Dion must’ve not known, huh? Which is why he called you Galahd. Since you’re from there, I’d assume that’s where you’re trying to go”.

Unbeknownst to Muerlin, the girl began to shake.

“I take it you’ve got some family you’ve been dying to see after all this time,” the wizard continued.

Galahd’s breath hinged and her glare toward the silver haired maiden could chill the spirit of any daemon.

Muerlin leaned up from her position, a sentimental smile on her face as she reminisced on her time in Tenebrae, the only family she had ever known and had to abandon.

“I’m...sure they’d give anything to see you and they’d be over the moon once they do”.

“WHO EVEN ASKED YOU, ANYWAY?!”

Muerlin turned toward the girl, startled.

“Trying to talk to me like you know everything, WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, HUH?!”

She stood on the bed, her body shaking violently.

Muerlin could see the redness appearing in her eyes.

“IN CASE YOU FORGOT, WE’RE NOT FRIENDS!! AND IN CASE YOU HAVEN’T NOTICED, YOU AREN’T RAMUH!! YOU’RE JUST THE INCARNATION OF HIS BRAINDEAD HORNY DAUGHTER THAT ACTUALLY IS THE REASON WHY HER ENTIRE FAMILY AND KINGDOM WENT TO SHIT!!! YOU’RE ONLY EVEN HERE BECAUSE YOU’RE TOO STUPID TO KNOW HOW TO HANDLE YOURSELF IN A FUCKED UP SITUATION!!! WALKING AROUND LIKE EVERYTHING IS JUST PEACHY ALL THE TIME WHEN IT ISN’T!!! YOU DON’T KNOW THE HALF OF IT!!! YOU DON’T KNOW ANYTHING!!!”

Hoping off the bed, Galahd stormed toward the door to their room.

“And you never fucking will,” she angrily shouted as she slammed the door behind her, leaving Muerlin in the dark.

With a light sigh, Muerlin could only focus on the tears that fell from her eyes as she ranted.

Galahd didn’t even notice until she made her way outside the cafe. Completely ignoring the driver of the their truck as she rushed out.

She cursed herself lightly at the idea that Muerlin could have seen.

The wizard figured it would be best not to follow her. It’s not like she was particularly in the best position to run away so there was no need to worry about that.

But sleep was probably not going to happen for either of them tonight and accepting that, Muerlin resigned herself to head back down to the café.

Maybe she’d feel better over a some hot chocolate.

The driver, sitting at the bar, nodded with a kind smile at the girl whom returned with a smile and a light wave.

Once she received her order, Muerlin sat down by the window to watch the stars as she indulged in her soothing beverage.

With a light sigh, she turned her attention to her cup. The moonlight shining over the chocolatey liquid.

“Well, slow start, but...progress is progress”, she reassured herself.

Galahd sitting in a nearby tree gazing at the sky above where she recharge herself.

“Don’t worry...it won’t be much longer now...I promise...I’ll make him pay”.

Eventually the milky eyed girl made her way back to their room, so exhausted she once again ignored the man at the bar, to see Muerlin asleep in the arm chair near the bed.

With a light sigh and a whispered “idiot”, the girl gently placed a spare blanket over the exhausted mystic before getting into bed.

Instantly drifting off to her first good night’s sleep in 2 years.

                                            ______________

“Wait...did you just say the Pythoness?!”

A loud voice gasped in disbelief over a phone.

“Yeah, just hopped on the back of my truck outta nowhere”.

“Holy...this is unreal”.

“Yeah, she’s got some squirt with her with some weird lookin’ eyes. Paid me 300gil to get them outta town”.

“That must be S.R.! The imperials have been mentioning someone with the Pythoness with strange eyes. Apparently she’s murdered two people. I heard the imperials are saying shot a man in the head and fed a woman to a pack of albinogins”.

“You gotta be shittin’ me. And I’ve been carryin’ that nutcase around in my truck?!”

“Yeah, we better report it before something bad happens”.

“Aw, man...I don’t know they look like nice girls”.

“Heh! You call two murderers ‘nice girls’? Seriously?! I’m reporting it now before they kill somebody else”.

“Alright, alright...sheesh”.

“Trust me, by tomorrow, we won’t have to worry about a thing”.

“I hope you’re right...”.

The driver sighed before he returned the cafe phone to its holster, rubbing the back of his neck in uncertainty and shame.

“Hey, mate”, the cafe owner addressed him. “Everythin’ alright?”

“...dunno, friend”, the driver responded, “...but Gods I hope so”.

                                             _____________

Tagging: @digitalkanvas​ @completelyinappropriate​ @aquathemermaidstripper​ @glacian-apocalypse​ @a-new-recipehhh​

[inexchangeforyoursoul]

Hello, hello, here’s my piece for the Halloween minibang organized in courtesy of the Chicken Tendies and Bacon Bits DabiHawks server~ and have the link to a more sensible reading experience (as t gets rid of formatting, too, and I’m lazy to put it all back in, at least for now): ao3

I was paired up with pineapple hair boy (dunno his url still rip) and our promt was haunted maze! \o/ I kinda included the other two we were gunning for, devil deal and ghost stories, so... multitasking, yo. Also put in my suggested fog, because as time passed, I realized how good it was even though I just put something into the box lmao

I’ll link pineapple’s accompanying piece as soon as they’re done with it, right here, in this line!! AND HERE IT IS!!!  👀

(Some of you may note... that I was supposed to be the artist. Well, it’s a long story, and likely on me tbh; I spent p much the entire week working on my piece, but I also started writing this one, and suggested doubling down on content, but unfortunately timetables are evil, and pineapple got mobbed enough as to likely run out of time if he also wanted to finish writing, so, um... yeah. This is not to say that we won’t do our original project, though, so stay tuned for the bonus round, hopefully soon! \[T]/)

(... also, I may or may not be considering to make this a full story, so there’s that)

Keigo trips for what feels like the millionth time on this way through the undergrowth- by day, the manor labyrinth is fairly easy to navigate, the kids frequenting it has kept it threadable. Nobody has legitimately tended to it for years, though. Or rather a decade, actually, it’s been a while he was here. Honestly, who cares, because--- oh, for fuck’s sake, more rose or blackberry or whatever vines to untangle his legs from. Great. Just… great.

He squints at his watch; still on time. Catching his breath after getting free surprisingly fast this time around, he takes a look at his surroundings. Not that he sees much, bear you. It’s near midnight and pitch dark. To top it off, the thick-ass fog often present, source: right damn here, has also crept into town. In fact, this is the worst it has gotten this year yet. There’s also barely anything he can hear from the dying-off autumn festival two streets and half an estate over.

It’s only him, his phone's flashlight, and the camera around his neck that also keeps getting caught in shit. That, and his own breathing that's getting his lungs numb from all the cool, wet air they are being exposed to.

Fooling around for so long has made him feel… antsy. Just a bit. The fact that his goal, that is to say the family crypt of the moneybags who used to live here is so close doesn’t help, either.

The entire plot is the stuff of local legends. The mansion is-was infamous for its… flammability, so to speak. Every few years, at least one room got totalled. Some believed that the last master had been a pyromaniac, up till the umpteenth house fire snuffed his line, and himself at the age of 60-something, out for good. But old folk said that the building had been ablaze just as frequently before his time- and truth to be told, there had been two more fires ever since, although those could have been the aforementioned kids or the occasional squatter. Two fires in about ten years is pretty normal in an abandoned place like this.

A few of those old people said the mansion had been built on hallowed grounds in their parents’ time, and the fires were punishment for disturbing the church ruins and the dead it used to house. Even fewer said the church must have been built on the very gates of hell and the ruins had kept the flames at bay.

And old geezer Giran in particular said that you could see the devil himself on the night when spirits roam free, around where the isolated belfry’s foundation stands still with walls crumbling- the place around which the crypts were erected on top of upturned graves. To be frank, the dude himself looked as if he escaped from hell, so what better myths to bust as an aspiring photographer? And even if the devil won't drag his ass outside, this will still make one hella Halloween photoshoot. He has loads of candles and some lampions in a backpack to get the mood right as well.

If anything remotely threatening pops up, though, like a mean stray dog… or a horde of drunk homeless, he's so ready to run for the hills, you have no idea.

He’s pricking his ears good as he closes in on the center of the once-upon large cemetery. One has to acknowledge the effort those rich bastards put into this dumb maze layout just to hide their own dead. It’s as if they feared a zombie apocalypse and concluded that they wouldn’t be able to get out if the hedges grow in a pattern, like, seriously. Then again, if the ‘horde of drunk homeless’ situation comes true, it will feel and work just the same, so who’s he to judge.

The scenery, too, is something to behold still. The entire area is surprisingly… not very foggy. One can see just as far as there is anything relevant to see, nothing more, nothing less. The waning moon even came out to play for a bit, shedding some decent light on his surroundings.

What catches his attention is not the excellent lighting to make photos, though, but rather someone sitting on the ruins of the old belfry, right under where the plump planet is working her magic.

He checks the display of his watch again- two past midnight. He’s late. Well, bummer… maybe next time.

That… guy, though? He doesn't look like any devil he knows of, but rather a human figure. One he also doesn't know of, actually. Which is remotely more interesting than Satan himself, because… that’s a goth silhouette if he’s ever seen one, and he’s seen all in town. All three of them.

They are a chill bunch, so he figures he might as well go up to this one. May be an acquaintance of Tokoyami and company’s who was also told about this spooky deal.

"Hey. Have you seen the midnight devil, or did he not get the memo this year?" He lifts a hand over his eyes to let him have a clearer look.

Just the way the other looks over to him, even while slouching quite a bit, is in a manner that’s nothing bar… uh… majestic, should be the word? Sublime? Yeah. That's peak cinematography. He’s… a bit at a loss of words here, because? People have waxed lyrical about the positively blessed relationship between him and sunlight, but this guy?? Has legitimately the most beautiful pair of eyes ever, period???

Before he could get too entranced by the sight of the sky blue pins of the overshadowed figure sitting between a moonlit sky and milky deep sea of mist, he notices that said eyes skim over him. Slowly, creeping down, and then up. Um…

Did… did he just check him out?

A hardly concealed grin can be heard out of his voice as he speaks up. “Hey there, angel."

… that's a yes.

This… coming from someone with eyes and a voice like… that, is actually… hm.

Like, look… he’s been looking forward college to maybe…  find someone he genuinely clicks with. But he has been through this immediate infatuation thing a hundred times already… and knows from experience that falling for mere potential is a grave mistake. What even are the chances that he’ll be the one? Put the aesthetic boner away and think rationally, Keigo. You don’t even know his name.

However, if, and IF he plays his cards well and this is not a total asshole… he could get both a photoshoot and a phone number out of this endeavor, which sounds like an excellent deal.

“Straight to the point, eh?” he acknowledges with a grin that's almost genuine. “Witching hour stuff aside, I don’t think I’ve seen you around…? A friend of Tokoyami’s?”

The other hops off the wall as he’s talking, stirring up some fog. Keigo could swear to hear absolutely nothing upon him hitting the ground. Must be the grass, but still, confirmed for cat. Not having to deal with the moon’s flare, he can now also tell that he’s about as old as expected.

The young man pauses to think for just a second before walking up to him. Nonchalance and weariness mingle in his steps.

“No, but I think I do know who you’re talking about. The kid with the raven.”

“Oh? Yeah, that’s him. Just visiting, then?” So he’s somewhat familiar with the area. Huh… how in hell did he never notice someone so obvious? Maybe he should come out here more often.

Also, is it just him, or did it get really cold all of a sudden?

“Him and his friends spend a lot of time here, I know enough. And yeah, something like that.”

As he stops in front of Keigo, an odd sensation trickles down his spinal cord, raising every hair on his nape. He’s had this once or twice when watching a legitimately good horror movie or catching a glimpse of an especially beautiful scene, or at least something very similar. It’s just the cold and being out in the middle of nowhere with a handsome stranger this time (which is kind of a combination of both), but still.

… this is not the time to be thinking ‘but what if he’s a serial killer and you are stuck out here with him alone’, brain. Thanks.

“Family business, gotcha.”

He’s onto something, because a certainly troubled look flashes over the hot--- the goth’s face as he reaches up to his own nape to rub away at it. “... yeah. That.”

The train of thought is seemingly swept out of the way after short consideration and his attention returns to Keigo. His neutral staring face is actually a little unnerving, no lie. “What about you, coming out here? Didn't quite catch what you first said.” He eyes him in a way similar to when he was sitting up on the wall, as if measuring him up.

“Oh, I wanted to take some photos,” Keigo starts, lifting the camera and the first candle he can grab from the bag, swinging it playfully around a few times with a smile to mask the nerve building up inside. “I figured it would be a nice opportunity even if the hearsay tale of the ~devil~ coming out at midnight was total humbug. This place is very atmospheric.”

What he says rouses a chuckle from the other. “Oh, so I wasn't imagining things. Been a while since I last heard that one.”

For someone deadpan he really has a cute smile. We are on a schedule here, but please never stop?

Keigo presses the tip of the candle into his cheek in contemplation, trying to steer his thoughts back on topic. “You mean, that local legend thing? I heard about it fairly recently… from the most suspect old dude." He rolls back and forth on his heels, watching out for reactions; "Giran, if the name is telling. But asking other old folks made them ring a bell, too, so I guess I was just ignorant.”

The other raises an eyebrow in amusement as the fading smile pulls into a smirk. "Maybe you are, a little bit."

Oh, come on. "Nobody is born cool, wise, or a folklore expert, okay…?" He pouts.

"I could already tell you were born without a trace of those things, alright."

"..."

He just said that. Looking him dead in the eyes.

Wow.

Dude's lucky his smile is cute, because that was so uncalled for and he's way too proud of himself. Sheesh. Anyway…

"Said the one who wouldn’t know manners if they hit him in the face…” He sighs. "Before we go down the name calling path, though… I’m Keigo." This was getting a little awkward without throwing it in, although he doubts the cocky asshole deserves it.

“Touya. My pleasure.”

Keigo hums as he moves to rummage through his stuff for the lighter he definitely threw in the bag before setting off. That’s not a very common name, but… “I think I’ve heard of you before…? Beats me where, though.” He’s pretty sure the conversation happened years ago by the crypt here, though.

Everything he says seems to amuse the other to no end. “It’s probably for the best. You seem like the type to run for the hills.”

Keigo gives him the side eye; being right aside, the hell is that supposed to mean…? And he’s so smug about it, too. About everything, really.

And no, it really wasn’t a line even remotely connected to serial killers, shut up, brain.

“Cryptic, are we?” he sighs, lighting the candle with a flickering click at last. The gentle flame sheds some dim, fog-broken light onto Touya’s face, and Keigo hates himself for being charmed by what he sees once more. That pale skin looks too perfect to be true… should feel like silk under one’s touch. If he ever gets a proper close-up look, he swears he’ll get a heart attack.

Touya blinks once, resetting his expression to nearly a default. “It's the two of us in a haunted, abandoned graveyard, inside a fog ridden maze, on the night after the 31st of October. You are basically begging to wind up dead. Coming off as cryptic and creepy as possible right now is elementary, angel.”

He… he legitimately can’t argue with that. The guy's almost as good at this as the bird kid is. “... touché.”

Stunned for words, he places his candle where planned instead. It's so stupid, but makes… so much sense. Is this why they all are like… that?

As he moves on like that without a word, Touya seems to get weirded out himself. "... You okay there?"

"I just had… an epiphany." He says, putting the first lampion with pinpoint precision. This guy just accidentally revealed some kind of arcane goth knowledge too advanced for him to begin to understand and doesn't even know it.

Touya heaves a deep sigh. "... you obviously got the wrong one out of that, but congratulations nonetheless."

“Maybe? I have not the foggiest what you were trying to imply.” He’s not that thick, but the dude’s being ~cryptic~ or whatever, and he’s not in the mood to write an essay on what edgy goths mean by what they say.

“Ah… figure that's why it's so clear out here this year… all the mist from the glade must have relocated to your head.” concluding that, Touya’s eyebrows pull closer upon seeing whatever else the blonde pulls out from his backpack while shooting a glare in his direction. “… what are those for?”

Keigo considers not answering at all, but decides against it. Being the bigger person by default is such a chore sometimes, but… “There’s some decent moonlight to work with, but these umbrellas help me get the little extra I need right where I want it. See?” With that, he turns the flashlight on and blinds the other with the sudden brightness.

“Ow, seriously?! I haven’t seen daylight in decades, turn that shit off…!”

… but, he can multitask and still be an asshole while answering the question. And laugh at the reaction, then laugh some more the decades comment as the other rubs his eyes, because he positively has the looks of a display-tanned indoor hermit. A hermit who is having a bad time.

“Wanna help, or would you rather brood somewhere the umbrellas won’t be able to reach you?”

A mechanical click can be heard in the distance; now that there’s no music playing in the streets, the bad (and always slightly ahead of time) clocktower bell can be heard signalling quarter past midnight. This seems to catch Touya’s attention and remind him of something as he stares into a nondescript spot for a while. At the very least, Keigo is certain he’s not thinking about the question that slipped out and which he will regret- if he says no, it’s gonna be the disappointment… if yes, then it’s because of all the things that will definitely go wrong.

“... well, it’s not as if I had no time to kill,” comes the apathetic answer a few seconds later, although the wrinkling eyebrows are telling of his misgivings regarding the idea.

“...”

Now, hold on… hold on, he may have an even worse idea that he’s definitely going to regret…

Keigo taps his pointing fingers against the camera anxiously. “Actually… say, what would it take for youuu… to be my model tonight?” He takes out his best puppy eyes as he looks over to him with the tiniest smile, blinking slowly.

It’s as if Touya had another light induced migraine immediately. He looks almost disgusted, which… is hilarious. “For that I'll take both your life savings and your soul.”

Keigo stifles both a giggle and a sigh at that, resulting in somewhat of a snort. He must be put off by those umbrellas quite a bit. "Really…? If that’s all, fine by me."

The answer brings back Touya to a much more reserved, if not vaguely sceptical stance. “You… sure are ready to jump the gun for that, huh.”

"Well I, too, am asking a bit much of you out of nowhere, aren’t I?” He asks, shrugging. “I figured it was worth asking, at the very least… you fit the mood a little too perfectly, one doesn’t get an opportunity like this every day. If all it takes is my birdie bank, that’s fine by me. … We can also talk about the soul part later if you want to.” It takes him every ounce of self restraint not to throw in a wink at the end.

“...” Touya stares in contemplation before taking a deep sigh and scratching his head. "Fine. I guess it’s going to be much less bothersome than posing for hours to have a portrait painted."

Keigo’s ears perk up at that. Like, a lot. "Y---you… there's a portrait?!"

Whaaa?!? A professional-ass painting, of him?? And, even more importantly, where?!?

"... I know what you're thinking of, and no, I have not the slightest idea. Who knows, maybe it even burned along with---" he cuts himself off right there. For the first time that night, he seems upset, or rather angry; whichever it may be is the strongest emotion the blonde has seen him display in these past minutes, affecting even him quite a bit. His hairs stand alert once more--- but the sentiment goes as it came, along with Touya’s stifled ire.

"... never mind. Let’s just… get on with this."

"..." He figures that being nosy would be straight-down rude, having just met and already asking for quite a bit… so he lets it slide as if nothing happened.

Keigo turns around to the lampion that he placed before the convo started.

Huh… that’s weird.

He doesn’t remember lighting it.

Overall, Touya seems to pay quite a bit of attention to what he's doing, visibly taking mental notes of the processes he goes through. First, it's a little embarrassing to be watched so closely, but eventually Keigo gets used to it and just does his thing. He soon finds himself in the zone, in fact. Hell knows how much time goes by as he keeps clicking away, barely even instructing, but rather just basking in whatever the other does, giving the okay to everything. He’s not even bothered by the bone cutting cold that’s now heightened by a breeze, because Touya seems to be a natural, and by god, does his presence do things to him. He’s had phases of architecture, mixed media with cutouts and shadow play, birds, and abandoned places, but this… this must be what finding a muse feels like.

When he's looking for the misplaced lighter for the hundredth time again, it's already shoved into his face.

"You should just keep this in your pocket, angel."

"Ah, thanks." He takes it, then turns to Touya sheepishly while pulling his jacket tighter as the light wind blows especially cold air down his collar. "I've been… stupidly quiet for a while. It must be really awkward, uh… am I really not bothering you?"

"It's fine. I like having the company."

Maybe his voice is softer than before… or maybe he’s just imagining things.

“I, uh--- same.” Keigo feels blood creeping to his face, so he quickly moves on; “I have enough of these candles left for like about one more location. Any ideas?”

It takes Touya only a second of consideration before he nods towards the belfry ruins.

He flashes a smile; “Gotcha.”

In barely 10 more minutes, Keigo is speeding through the hundreds (whoops?) of photos he’s taken, walking circles around the ruin. His breath hitches over the one where Touya looked directly into the camera right by the wall. He’s gonna frameit and putitonhiswardrobedoor andmmmakeit his ppphone wallpaper---

He can hear a chuckle behind him, and remembers that whoopsie daisy, he’s not alone. “You're pleased as punch over a few pictures… It’s adorable.”

Keigo gets red to the eartips this time around, realizing that he’s got that goofy-ass smile Rumi keeps teasing him for. Unfortunately for him, once it gets pointed out… it always sticks. “I’tsjustthat---…!! I… didn’t think I’d get such nice photos at all? Moody scenery is nice and easier to sell, but I prefer lived-in spaces and models, anything that feels alive. Especially when they’re so pret...ty. Patient.”

Someone kill him.

“...”

The thin eyebrows twitch the smallest amount and for a torturous, silent pause Keigo wishes for some kind of deity to strike him down and grant a merciful, immediate death.

“I suppose I’ve had a few years to put some patience practice under the belt.”

He fights the urge to run away crying. There’s no way anybody exists who wouldn’t see right through that… at least he gets to see that cute smile once more.

He forces one on, too. “... I can tell.”

The wind starts picking up, distracting the other. Touya takes a look up to the moon, which has made quite some progress on its route since they’ve been there. Then there’s three clicks echoing through the night, signalling that it’s nearing 1 a.m. “Well… you were babbling about showing me, too, so you better hurry. I don’t have much time left.”

Keigo snaps out of the shameful frustration only to be legitimately ashamed. “Oh… sorry, I… hadn’t even considered that you had other business tonight.” Shit. He just assumed he had all night, but Touya was just humoring him until he had other business.

The other shakes his head. “It’s no issue, just get your fidgety ass over here already.”

As he makes his way over to him, Keigo feels something grab onto his leg and the familiar itch of thorns scratching up skin through his jeans.

Fucking vines again.

He should have expected this, shouldn't he. As he stumbles forward, he sighs in immediate acceptance.

He would have never expected being caught, though.

Nor Touya’s hands being as cold as a frozen piece of meat that can be felt even through his jumper and jacket. His touch sends shivers down his spine, freezing him in surprise first; if the strap didn’t get caught around his arm, the camera would hit the ground as his hand loses its hold on it.

What he’s definitely not ready for, however, is the arctic chill radiating from every inch of Touya’s, the same icy presence that he’s been feeling ever since… since he got close.

The thing that makes him break into cold sweat and brings even the blood in his veins to a halt, however, is the pair of forget-me-nots staring into his soul from mere inches.

Those beautiful, blue eyes, that… that are glassy and clouded and definitely not… human.

His lips part, but the scream dies off in his throat.

The realization flashing in his eyes draws a lenient, gentle smile onto the pale face. “You’re slow, angel.”

Keigo's paralyzed in what he can only guess is sheer terror, his body's last resort in hopes that the threat will just leave if it's not interesting enough to investigate. His mind, however, is racing and panicked as his inevitable end leans in for the kill.

Fuck.

Fuck, he's… dead.

He's dead, he's dead, he's dead---

He’s dead.

At least, that’s what he remembers thinking before passing the fuck out… not knowing who exactly he was referring to anymore. Because he feels positively not alive when waking up on the belfry’s cold ground, on the patch of concrete that lay behind where the catafalque used to be, surrounded by what remained of the candles and lampions he had brought along, and some of the flowers that people decorate graves with.

The spot where everyone suspected a former hidden path… or another grave.

He turns around, because now he remembers where he last saw the name Touya- it’s barely legible, but there it is, crudely chiselled into the stone right above the grey ground.

At first he supposes that the cold, empty feeling that seeps through his entire being must be the nasty cold and pneumonia he gets after the deed. As the days go by, however… the shivers and cold sensation persist and his dreams are plagued by endless mazes, fires, and haunting, blue eyes all the time.

His second guess for the cause of it is lingering fear: on the camera, he finds creepy photos of himself lying in the grave once he gets better. When going through them all, he considers to delete the ones he took of the other or use them for digging, (there’s no fucking way he actually hung out with a ghost, is there?) but… they all pop up as vaguely distorted landscapes, with light spots where a pair of eyes may or may not be.

Having stared blankly for like an hour at the one he really liked back then, he throws the camera into the corner of his armchair and doesn’t touch it for weeks.

This carries on through winter, in spring, and he's convinced of how badly he fucked up when even in the suffocating summer heat he feels the veil of an icy embrace.

Once leaves start catching rust again, the chill makes his bones ache, much like they did after the encounter. And it only gets stronger by the day. He hasn't shown the pictures, developed or otherwise, to anyone. Somewhere down the line he figured… that he should just give him the photos and trade them back for his soul, because hell if that dementor did not help himself to it right along with the kiss he definitely got but doesn’t remember. Trauma alone cannot possibly cause this.

It's midnight again. This time, he's already there, waiting for the toll of the distant church bell they had fixed and reset sometime in spring. The autumn fog is as thick as ever.

His grip tightens on the envelope; deals like this are notoriously hard to break or undo. Hell, the guy agreed to have the photos taken, creating a nice little loophole. Whether he printed them, deleted them all or whatever might be a moot point.

… no. No, he can't start thinking about this right now, if he comes he'll get this thing annulled, get his damn soul back---

As the last gong dies off in the night, a pair of lean arms slink around his aching chest and pull him against a body so cold it's scalding his skin.

"Hello again, angel," greets the voice, sounding a hundred times sweeter than he remembers.

…

Or maybe… he'll just let him keep it forever.

[artificialqueens]

All I long for (deep in my spirit) (Scyvie) - Thorpe

AN: Hello! I’m back, presenting my first Scyvie fic and, simultaneously, my first lesbian AU. It was inspired by the myth of Pygmalion and Galatea (which you don’t have to know to understand what’s happening… or so I believe) and this gorgeous picture. It was also posted on AO3, if you’re feeling extra and would like to leave some feedback there as well. I hope you’ll like it!

▪︎

“Come to me now, free me from bitter worry

All I long for, deep in my spirit - do it!”

“Ode to Aphrodite”, Sappho

▪︎

A loud, clinking vibrato filled the air in the cramped studio as Yvie tossed a metal rasp at the opposite wall. She growled in frustration. ‘ What am I doing wrong?’ she thought, taking a step back and cocking her head to the side to get a better look at the marble statue in front of her. She bit at her lower lip, eyes trailing over the delicate features she’d memorised months earlier, when she first saw that beautiful face in her dream. She could easily evoke every tiny detail with her eyes closed, but for some godforsaken reason couldn’t capture any with her tools on cold stone.

She slowly turned around, watching the sketches of the same figure from different angles pinned to the walls, comparing them with clay busts and plaster casts in various sizes showered in the golden rays of the setting sun coming through the floor-length windows. Tens of portrayals of the same person. It was madness, she knew it, but couldn’t bring herself to care. Her once modern and minimalistic space clustered with embodiments of her growing obsession over someone who didn’t even exist, a creation of her imagination.

Sometimes she felt the urge to destroy all of that. Break, tear, shatter. Throw away the marble and bring back her paints. Cover empty canvas with bold, bright strokes of a contemporary brilliance, lines speaking of anger and hurt; bend rods and wires, make them look like teeth, like fangs, like a violent warning for everyone who’d like to get near the vulnerable middle, soft string of material, so delicate, so lonely. She was surrounded by proofs of that softness, of blue and green lace covering her heart with veins she tried to hide under dark leather of smoke in her lungs; of red velour yearning for care and affection.

She wanted to crash all of that, but instead walked to the corner and bent down to pick up the rasp from where it landed on the floor.

The biggest statue, her main creation, was stood on a pedestal, like all precious things should be. She was almost Yvie’s height, upper half of her body naked, displaying ideal proportions, voluminous curls cascading down her back, muscles finely accentuated under the folds of a stony robe draped around her hips in a manner feigning haphazardness - each element shaped with love and admiration. Even from the distance the precision she was sculpted with was mesmerising. 

And yet, something was missing.

She approached the figure with determination in her step, rustling little specks of dust lazily shimmering in the air around the impeccably white stone, disrupting the aura of serenity. Her right hand gently grazed the sleek palm, thumb stroking the inside of a wrist, before she let it trail higher, slowly, up the pliant curve of the elbow, doing a circular motion on the shoulder with her nails, finger pads dancing on the collarbone and side of neck, reaching behind an ear and tenderly cupping the pale cheek.

Deep brown eyes staring into snowy irises, dead and blank, yet somehow calming, as if they looked past harshness and saw longing blemished with fear of rejection, as if they saw all of that and understood. She inhaled sharply and her gaze dropped to a small smile, delicate crook of lips, simultaneously cheeky and warm. Almost perfect. With hooded lids she moved even closer, suddenly trembling as her lips glided over the marble ones, expecting hardness and coldness, but meeting with surprising softness instead. She heard a slight gasp and it took her a second to realise it wasn’t her who made it.

Her head jerked away alarmed, and she saw bright eyes blinking at her in confusion, long lashes fluttering shyly as a small hand rested on Yvie’s jaw and pulled her back in hesitantly, as if giving her time to withdraw.

She didn’t.

Plump lips were pressing little kisses in the corners or her mouth, then on her cupid’s bow, each more sure than the previous one. Yvie stayed frozen, until pearly white teeth lightly tugged at her lower lip, and she felt nose nudging her own, maybe a plea, maybe a challenge. She slid her hand around the slim waist and held the other woman closer, who wrapped her arms around her neck and deepened the kiss, humming happily.

Pale skin on hers was like cashmere, so soft and warm she couldn’t help herself from touching, hands tracing along the spine, roaming over shoulder blades and sides of ribs, down to hips, as the rasp once again fell to the floor, metallic tinkle chiming in with the harmonious way their lips collided and bodies fit together perfectly.

Finally, Yvie pulled away, trying to process what had happened. The woman in her arms leaned in, initially chasing her lips, but contented herself with remaining close, flushed to the her side and gazing up to her with a dreamy expression.

“How- What-” Yvie shook her head and let out a huff, too lost to gather her thoughts. The hard stone was now tender flesh, dead statue turned into sweetly breathing lover. Could it be possible?

She looked her companion up and down in disbelief, blushing promptly after noticing she was now fully naked. She jumped away and lifted the robe that was pooling around their ankles on the pedestal, swiftly covering the exposed curves and milky skin turned rosy in places she had been grabbing it seconds earlier. Having done that, she once again studied the familiar features that suddenly felt new, better, finally perfect. The missing thing Yvie couldn’t capture was life - the pure joy glimmering behind the green eyes that looked at her with so much kindness.

The literal goddess in front of her shifted from one leg to another, wrapping herself tighter in the red material, and only then had Yvie realised the biggest change. Her hair. It wasn’t flaxen, as the marble, as the golden halo of light always surrounding her in Yvie’s dreams. It was fiery auburn, strands resting on her shoulders, matching the colour of the robe, and yet standing out, the perfect shade of-

“ Scarlet ,” she whispered in awe, watching the last rays of the setting sun play in her locks, reaching to touch.

“Scarlet?” The woman cocked her head and looked at her quizzically, testing the word on her tongue. Then smiling the most beautiful smile, which made air run out of Yvie’s lungs, upon deciding she liked it. “What’s that?”

“That’s… I mean, it’s you-“ Yvie mumbled, still dumbfounded by the sight in front of her, not quite remembering how to breathe, let alone form cohesive sentences.

“That’s me?” She smiled again, her whole face lit up with joy. If the sun disappeared in that moment, Yvie thought, she would still be basking in the light. “I like that. Isn’t it pretty?”

“It is,” the taller woman choked out. It was pretty, very much so. Alluring, in a way, charming. Bewitching. Just like the gorgeous creature - Scarlet - looking at her so tenderly, awaiting her reaction. She looked into her eyes, trying to convey all she felt, hoping that she would stop the storm, untangle all her emotions and shape them into words full of meaning, use her turmoil like ink and write a new stanza to Sappho’s poems.

“And who are you?” A soft voice and even softer touch on her cheek.

“Yours.” Air finally finding its way back to her lungs, everything falling into place as she murmured to the pale temple, pressing a kiss after kiss, a promise within confession, holding Scarlet close. “I’m yours.”

[scripted-dalliances]

Rest In Peace: Chapter Eleven

Title: Rest In Peace

Chapter: 11

Summary: A part of Faithless Fairy Tale, a more in depth look at how they brought Laura back to life. Appearance of old faces, creation of new ones and if you’re looking for canon, it left a long, long time ago. If you squint you might be able to see some pieces from the book.

“Only after disaster can we be resurrected. It's only after you've lost everything that you're free to do anything. Nothing is static, everything is evolving, everything is falling apart.” -Chuck Palahniuk

+

To rewrite a story, to un-tell a tale, to take back the life of a story; sometimes you have to go back to the beginning.

It’s the hardest thing really, to unravel and undo. It's unnatural in its own right, an act of destruction. A murder of innocent poses that have done nothing but filled up the space, to be a lesson or a comfort. Each word, each letter carefully crafted by eons of combined hearts, mouths and minds. There are layered meanings in these words, history in the named and moments and that is why they can hurt. Why they can topple empires and whole worlds.

How they can take a life. How they can bring one back.

Once upon a time, only a God could rewrite a story.

Nephthys is old enough to recall when the world understood that. Old enough to have forgotten when it changed. When it became easier drawing blood from stone, than to change a story.

She knew that it was not the words that had changed, but the people. Their hearts had became colder and heavier, words had to work twice as hard to pierce it.

To change it.

Nephthys pulls her gaze from the sea of grass fields to the driver, to Laura Moon, Laura McCabe. A once pretty girl, dead with a heart so heavy it's a wonder she moves at all.

Let alone dragged herself out of a grave.

Back in the day, this would have been enough to earn her a new story. One made by her own glory, a testament to her will. 

She would have been repainted with kindness and generosity, of a woman wrongly murdered, left behind but reunited nevertheless with her grieving husband. 

Because of love, fate or luck. In a good story, they are one in the same.

If there is any justice left in the world, Laura will have her re-telling, she is owed far more than just her life back. If it was up to her, Nephthys would take her hand, kiss her cheeks and call her sister. What other gods could so intimately know death and the life that could be after? What other woman could understand the shadows, casted by chaos and otherwise?

If Nephthys could have had her way, Laura Moon would be hers.

“What's your sister like?” Laura questions in the dark. The hour unknown, but the moon is high and the road empty. Somewhere in the distance Mad Sweeney and her brother relieve themselves. “And don't bullshit me. I have a sister, and she annoyed the hell out of me. First words I would use to describe her is uppity bitch, followed by crazy and addicted to pastels.”

In the embrace of moonlight, Nephthys smiles slowly. There is a complicated understanding between sisters naturally. God or mortal. To know and love, to hate and hold afar because they are so like and unlike you.

Only sisters understand sisters.

“She will not be what you think.” She replies, leaning back. “Stories and history will always paint her as a wife first and a mother second. Few remember who she is without them, but if I had to sum her up…” She pauses to really give it thought before answering. “She is strong. In heart and kindness. Of course she has shades of dark, not one of us is built without it…she can be stubborn. Over protective. A trickster too.”

“A trickster?”

Nephthys chuckles softly, “I told you, she would not be what you imagine. Yes, she loves a good trick. Really loves those, what are they called? Not game shows…prank ones? Punk'd was a favorite of her's for a long time.”

“What? Really?”

The dead girl does not believe her, she can tell by the tone of her voice.

“She used to play such games on our brother. Before he left us. Always tricking or scaring him to tell the truth. I think it reminded her of those days…”

Silence envelops her slowly. She becomes aware of all that she has lost and what she could still stand to lose. There is a storm, a war and all of it will end with more than just thunder and rain. There are new stories being written, and she is unsure if she has a place in them.

Its been a long time since anyone has looked to her for guidance. Laura is probably the last, and her heart breaks for that fact.

“Can I share a secret, Laura McCabe?”

The dead girl blinks her milky eyes, a reflection in the rear view mirror. There is hunger there, for life and knowledge but also an ocean's worth of pain. This girl was starved by the world, long before the rot set in, she was bones and bitterness. Strung together by razor thin trust and hope.

Those things are even sharper now, haven been broken too many times.

“Yeah, go ahead. I'm told the dead keep the best secrets.”

“The right ones do.” Nephthys agrees, “My secret is this, Laura McCabe. You were meant for this. Not this way, with messy Norse gods and war. Not crawling out of your grave and roaming the world with rotted hands and feet...but your spirit has traveled this road before, and it will guide you through this darkness just as it has time and time again. Your end was not nothingness. It was to be a return. You always come back.”

“That's not what Anubis said.” She whispers, voice softer than a lover's kiss. Here in the dark, with just each other, Laura peels back the stone layer around her dead heart and allows Nephthys a glimpse at the young girl she is.

She is lost, so very lost, but she continues and Nephthys own heart aches. 

“He was angry. You did not allow him to do his job.” She chastises lightly, “We are not without faults, remember? Even gods can be petty and vindictive.”

This makes the dead girl laugh, “Oh, yeah. Don't need to tell me twice.” Her voice is less gentle, like grave dirt is still trapped in her throat. Like she's trying to push it out with will alone. “What do you mean. My spirit has traveled this road before? No riddles, please. I'm too dead to appreciate them.”

From the corner of her golden eyes, she catches the returning figures of the men. She does not have a lot of time left to explain.

“The best stories never die, Laura. They just get retold. The names change, the place and time. The little details get lost along the way, but the core. The spirit. It nestles in there like a seed in winter. Warm within mother earth until it's time to be told again, and that is what you are now. A seedling of a story with ripped out pages like mangled roots, that no one can recall the ending of. In many cases, this would be the end. A terrible and unjust one. Another story lost, like so many. I would have mourned it.”

Laura places her hand across her chest.

“What changed it? What's the difference, then, how am I different from all the others?” She questions.

Nephthys sighs, “I do not know.”

The car doors open, and Horus flies into her arms once more. She breathes him in, crushes him into an embrace and privately sends out another thank you to Laura with all her heart. She does not know what she has given back to them, and probably never will, but that doesn't mean Nephthys is ungrateful.

“I wish you luck, Laura McCabe. Whatever happens, between here and after.”

In the front passenger side, the tall red headed Leprechaun chuckles darkly, while lighting up a pre-rolled joint. “Aye, she's got all the luck she'll ever fuckin' need.” He says it bitterly, and there's something she's missing between those words. Still, she is not a blind woman.

Perhaps that's the other piece of the puzzle, maybe her spirit has finally found what it's been looking for all this time.

Maybe her roots have finally found a home.

+

“Are you fucking kidding me.” Laura says when she steps out of the car. 

Standing and looking up at her old place of work. The casino she worked in for years, and ultimately lead to her death in a round about way. It was the place she met Shadow, it was the place she tried to rob and failed.

Nephthys stepped up next to her, still holding hands with Horus. “To rewrite anything, it is best to start at the beginning.” She explains, and taking up position of leader to guide them as they headed around to the back of the casino. She can tell Mad Sweeney and Laura are nervous, for many reasons, but it is obvious that the biggest concern is having anyone recognize a dead woman walking.

“Think we could hurry this up? Do the bitchin' inside at least?” He snaps, briskly stepping forward only to pause for Laura anyways. Nephthys notices his hovering, even if he doesn't. It's sweet, if completely unnecessary and if judging by Laura's scowl, unwanted.

With Horus at her side, Nephthys merely starts to climb the stairs to the upstairs of the casino, where the more managerial side of things happen. From here, it's harder to hear the people and the music. The only noise that gets through is the hum of air conditioners on full blast and the occasional lucky winner.

Their arrival has been expected, she can tell by the lack of personal at the front and the single guard at the main door. A built fellow, who nods in her direction and wordlessly opens the door for them.

If Mad Sweeney and Laura are expecting some grand entrance of her sister goddess, they don't get it.

Isis sweeps across the room like a blur of white. Her single focus being the return of her lost child, her son.

Horus meets her half way, wrapping his mother up in a wide spread of his arms like wings. Isis sheds her tears in the hollow of his throat, the words of their emotional meeting are muffled and lost to his skin but it doesn’t matter. They are reunited.

Nephthys has never truly bore any child in her body, but even she can feel their bond, and understands this is two pieces of one heart rejoining. How it radiates between the pair like a golden sun of their own creation. Their love for each other has always been powerful.

Its not always perfect, they are so similar they are bound to clash. Isis is still a mother, ready to tear the world asunder for him. To make a place for him, to make it safe.

Horus is still a young man at heart. He still has restless bones that hunger for unknown glories. He still wants to earn his place.

“Mother.” Horus greets with clear affection and just a hint of pain. Heartbreak for the years they've spent apart because of his madness.

“Son,” She replies in the same manner. She touches his cheek and places a kiss on each of his cheekbones with reverence before turning to greet the other missing relative. “Sister.”

Nephthys goes to them, a hand on Horus's shoulder the other to link her fingers with her sister's. “I've missed you.” She admits. New York had been wonderful, she had flourished but she had never forgotten her roots. 

This is where her story always starts, hand in hand with her sister. Let the storms and rain come, let the war raid everything that was and would be; Nephthys is no longer afraid, they can not take this from her.

She is home.

>

[antikristvs]

Inktober Writing Challenge

(I have been really struggling with the challenge lately. This piece was especially hard given I accidently lost the whole work, thus had to re-write the entire story. I have little time to catch up, but I'm trying. Hope it fucking scares you)

Day 22: A Creepypasta

The Story

I debated bringing this story to light for weeks. It haunts me as clear and vividly gruesome as if the nightmare had unfolded a mere hour ago. I spent day after day wallowing in vodka, however no amount of alcohol rescued me from the bottomless gulf of heartbreak and guilt, or dimmed the abysmal horror lingering like poisonous thorns goring my ailed heart. It seems I have no choice… I shall succumb to insanity looming over me and pull the trigger if it  remains silently locked under my ribs, and my dear friend will have perished in vain. And her kid… He sincerely wanted to help. All this madness, death and agony he roused for me. I must unveil what happened, perhaps then I can breathe once again. I am to keep personal details as vague as possible, for if authorities find out my relation to the tragedy, I may land in more trouble than I can handle.

It began a few months ago. I was a horror author in the spring of career. My first novel, Miasma, had been published the previous year, I found myself in a storm of praises from readers and critics alike. Everyone was starving for my second book rumored to come out the following Halloween. Nobody could possibly know the truth… How hollow I had become, a mummified shell of the creator I once was. I drowned myself in spirits and melted my brain with cocaine to make existence bearable, distancing from friends and loyal admirers. Except one. For the story’s sake, I am going to name her Nellie. We… were morning against midnight, summer against dead of winter. Nellie was a single and eight months pregnant bachelor in family studies with a dream to one day run her own daycare. She had not as much as glanced at my book, far too squeamish for things I depicted, but cherished every part of me. I scorned Nellie for it. Who could adore the cynical addict I was behind a charming mask of blossoming talent… In my mind, no one. Nobody sane at least. I will divulge my soul and sincerely admit Nellie would have been the first person I shunned if not the stubbornness so aberrant to her naive and gentle self. She would not let me decay in peace, ringing the doorbell every fucking day with a flowery paper bag of home-cooked food and a rented DVD. Sometimes, she would even have me tag along to a tiny local coffee shop around the corner, where somehow, I smiled to the green-haired barista and signed a couple of autographs people asked me for. Nellie was the sole reason why I chose not to end it all. And I’m certain she knew. She was mellow, yet not a fool neither blind.  I loathed her, but found it impossible not to love her. She knew I could not bring myself to let her find my lifeless cadaver with skull blown off and brains all over the wall.

Upon stirring awake and noticing it was six in the evening, I caught myself both dismissively relieved and slightly concerned. Nellie always showed up around three in the afternoon to drag me out of bed and scold me for downing five cans of Red Bull to stay restless till ungodly hours of dawn again. Swallowing the worry and assuming she got caught up in university work, I stalked to the kitchen, only to freeze in sheer astonishment oozing with faint and abstract sense of primeval terror. Among the clutter on the table, sat an object which definitely had not been here before - a neatly folded piece of paper. Frowning, I snatched the mysterious item and frantically stared at the elegant note within. Gravely wind gushed through the balcony door I had not realized was open, and my skin grew pale as bone.

“End of the road behind the city park. I shall be waiting upon your wake”

Before spiralling into perpetual gloom, I used to be an avid urbex explorer. I’d gladly risk getting injured or arrested to sate my fascination for the cryptic and the macabre. Even Miasma, my novel, was inspired by an abandoned hospital a few streets away. Thus I certainly was aware about a deserted road behind the city park despite never having stepped a foot on it due to work and later misery devouring all my time. It was enlaced with legends and eerie stories told in slumber parties, university students organized ghost tours there for Halloween, high schoolers filmed themselves sniffing around to impress their crushes. Older folks feared the road like ants fear fire, claiming a curse plagued it, and monstrous specters roamed it on moonless nights. Nobody had dared to complete the route in last two decades, or lived to tell the tale, but an abandoned church was said to still stand at the end quite firm, held together by forces of ancient evil which infested it.

Though I doubt there is any need to mention urbex was no passion of Nellie’s.

I tossed the crumpled note away, grabbing my coat and bursting through the door, not bothering to brush my hair or change the jeans and shirt I had been wearing for last five days. All I hoped was that the hood will obscure my face enough for me not to be recognized.

The city park laid an hour away from my home on foot, and took an hour more to cross it. Without a physical possibility for the police to monitor the entirety of such a large area, the place could get extremely dangerous at night, lunatics, rogue criminals and homeless heroin junkies lurking in the bushes. Yet I could not care less about peril. Dread of something unnamed and far, far more cruel than a knife or a gun awaiting at the end of my destination pulsing like sick, festering aura around me likely  pushed any attacker to turn around anyway. My muscles were burning, sharp twigs whipping my face as I took every possible shortcut. The air was thick and heavy like butter, it felt as if my lungs had been flooded with slowly stagnating slime, robbing me of oxygen and making my head foggy, sight growing dark. I bit my lip harshly, rough, warm taste of iron dripping on my tongue, and pushed forward, struggling not to collapse.

I wish a gasp of ardor had erupted from my throat when indeed, outline of a small, crumbling church of gray stone emerged from the dark. I wish I had gingerly leaped forward, clutching my camera and already spinning a chilling tale in my head. Not limped towards impending doom growing clearer and clearer in front of me, ankle sprained in the rush refusing to obey my sizzling nerves.

What I found inside the forsaken sanctum surged me with such sepulchral, abysmal sensation I fail to flesh out earthly words to recount it. The horror… Oh, the spine-crushing horror. Nellie was here. She gazed straight at me, starry blue of her gaze now glassy, final visage of sheer fright and despair chained in the milky prison until maggots gnaw it away, mouth agape in a wordless greeting muffled by raw red muscle stuffed withing. She laid so heinously beautiful on the split, mouldy altar, broken arms motionless by her side, bare intestines slumped over the edge, blood and yellowish, reeking stomach fluids still trickling and spreading around as if a morbid halo. Her chest… Torn open, flesh and fragments of fractured bone scattered around, a dusty golden Chalice set in the middle. I stumbled backwards, screeching soundlessly. On top of it… placed a severed head of an in infant, so tiny, but almost fully developed, ruthlessly gouged out of a lifeless womb.

What… What in the name of all Saints and Sinners… Was this all a nightmare?.. A hallucination?.. Let it be, please, let it be!..

“Do you like it?” a voice rumbled from my left, guttural, yet serpentine,  shaking every fiber in my body with shock so intense I broke out of paralysis, jumping and turning around to face four blazing amber orbs in the shadows.

The figure rose seven feet above ground, without counting the enormous crooked horns sat upon his head that is. Black as obsidian, his skin merged flawlessly with the murk, or was he cloaked I could not tell.

“I beg you, fear not… I did this all for you” he continued without waiting for a response of mine “For your story. A child once lost a scripture of yours on the road that I wandered. I gave into curiosity, and the way you weave words of terror has bewitched me. I have watched over you ever since… I saw how uneasy your slumber was, I witnessed the pain drained ambrosia has brought you. Please…” he gestured towards the desecration “drink inspiration for your new story”.

[mara-the-cactupus]

@blackpapersnowflakes replied to your post“Everything Ask Game”

i love your description of liminal spaces like airports! what would be your dream movie to direct?

Oooohh boy... weeeelllll that is a big question actually, because I happen to have about five different stories swirling around in my head that have been stewing there for ages and that I’m hoping to turn into actual scripts...

[buckle up for a long post here]:

[[okay so I’m basically gonna dump my entire ideas here, so I guess I should say “please don’t steal them lol” or something, but... like, if anyone reading this is actually in a good position to produce them, um, maybe DM me or something ! ...yeah]]

1. Untitled space movie

Okay okay, so this one is my most recent and so it’s currently at the top of my mind.

The idea came to me after watching Guardians of the Galaxy vol. 2 in the theater, which was a fairly good movie, but had a few elements that got me thinking about cliches and things I would change... and as a result, I ended up with a totally different idea for a space movie that I ended up scribbling down on the busride home. Here are those scribbles:

Hero is a 20s-30s black/hispanic woman from Earth; similar genre setting as GOTG or Star Trek. She has a prosthetic arm and befriends the mechanic on the space ship/station, who specializes in the biology of other two-legged mammalian creatures. The mechanic comes from a planet that does not have any of the binaries or social systems that led to Earth’s destruction; it is a more balanced culture, valuing truth and empathy over things like personal gain.

The hero tells the other people that a virus wiped out her species/planet; the reality, as she confesses later, is that humans themselves did, and that potential “virus” characteristics like greed or paranoia can’t really be separated from the humans. She knows this, and has a strong sense of repressed guilt; if she confronts the truth, she’ll have to face her own questions about why she survived and if she’s any different.

The hero just wants not to be judged as a member of some faulty group for once, since she’s faced racism/sexism/homophobia etc on Earth, and now that she’s the only human she thinks other species will judge her based on her planet’s history; the mechanic and many other species actually wouldn’t care, as she gradually realizes – they have a much healthier way of looking at individuals within context. She thinks that people will have some idea of what a human is, but with human records destroyed or misunderstood she finds people turning to her as one of the last survivors of her race. (Was she an astronaut? Lucky abductee?)

When someone attacks the mechanic’s planet, seeking to take over this similarly habitable planet, the hero has to come to terms with humanity and its violence – and because the mechanic’s race doesn’t know how to deal with this kind of irrational force, she decides to sacrifice herself and her species for the safety of a more deserving world. Perhaps in the end, diplomacy prevails: she reminds the surviving humans of what is really important.

I think it was a combination of “they always save humanity, and the villain always tries to destroy the universe” and the general sense of “ugh” that comes with passing over a busy freeway. And I automatically visualized Tessa Thompson because the trailer for Thor: Ragnarok played right before the movie.

Soooo... I also happen to have a word document where I keep random ideas that pop into my head, which include such gems as

“that stereotypical loner high school dude in all the high school movies ACTUALLY turns invisible, freaks out, finds himself on an alternate plane where nobody can see or hear him except for this old Woody Harrelson-type conspiracy nutter guy who lived off the grid for so long that he literally turned invisible too”

and

“lesbian roadtrip movie, but one of them has to smuggle a zombie who was her scientist girlfriend across the country to meet up with their other scientist friends to complete the girlfriend’s zombie cure so she can be revived, without getting bitten or letting any rednecks shoot her girlfriend/zombie along the way”

(Feel free to run with either of these; I suck at writing comedy.)

One of the ideas that’s been floating for about a year is something that started as a “what if there was a master political manipulator who was also kind of pacifist and also there was a space priestess played by Lupita Nyong’o who roams the galaxy in a glass orb filled with plants” thought while I was watching the original Star Wars trilogy. That later morphed into more general thoughts about space, resulting in what was filed under “space ace story,” and was about one of the last humans alive:

as a child/teen, they were plucked out of a warzone (much like the Middle East) by some Aliens Without Borders aid volunteers on a spaceship; the aliens dropped them off at an Intergalactic Space Station which is a learning hub of shared information from many species across the universe. They had lost their legs in an explosion in the warzone, and now have two prosthetic legs which involve advanced robotics and are actually really helpful at navigating alien terrain and even doing things like flying. Now, they explore alien worlds in a small spacecraft. They have molecule scanners, which help them to judge what kinds of foods are edible and what kinds of atmospheres are safe to breathe; they visit planets based on the space station’s maps and data on which ones are habitable for humanoid creatures. Since there are very few humans still roaming the galaxy, gender and race are kind of irrelevant; they’re kind of young, between childhood and adulthood, and they look ethnically ambiguous and gender nonbinary.

The main idea being that the alien worlds all exhibit some of the cool characteristics of Earth that we only really see in nature documentaries like Planet Earth, like hole-caves in the middle of the jungle, or animals that freeze themselves to go into hibernation in the arctic. But I didn’t really have a plot. It was mostly just this character wandering around, looking for another home. At one point I even thought it might be interesting to try communicating all that without dialogue, or at least without any human language aside from songs that the character might sing, or things they might talk to themself about.

Anyway, after GOTG v.2 I did some re-meshing of ideas, and ended up with this:

Andy (short for Andromeda, after our neighboring galaxy, which is set to collide with the Milky Way in a few billion years) is a young woman living with her aunt out in the desert. They lived in the city when she was a kid, when her uncle was still alive; both of them made her wear a respirator when she went outside, and made sure she practiced a healthy lifestyle so she wouldn’t end up like them. As the city deteriorated and tensions escalated among those still living there, her family moved out to a couple of trailers a few miles off the highway. As mechanics, her aunt and uncle were able to fix up cars and motorcycles, specializing in solar technology; they also maintained some basic computer screen technologies, meaning that Andy grew up watching some old media that they saved to USBs, such as movies and nature documentaries.

That led me to one of those happy coincidence a-ha moments that sometimes come as a product of having ideas stewing together in my head and subconsciously collecting all my memories and experiences, because for my space ace story I had thought it would be cool if the protagonist had a necklace that looked like a clay bead, only at one point it cracked to reveal that it was actually a blue glass bead baked in dirt or something, sort of as a visual representation of earth.

Anyway, my holy-shit-my-brain-made-this-connection-and-didn’t-tell-me moment came when I remembered Castle In The Sky, which was one of my favorite movies as a kid (and probably my all-time favorite Ghibli movie, no matter how beautiful Spirited Away may be), and one of the stories that I think really cemented my weakness for that fine line between idealism and cynicism.

In the movie [SPOILERS - watch this if you haven’t; it’s really good!!], Shiita has this necklace that levitates her when she is plummeting from an airship, and which is made from the same crystal that keeps the “castle in the sky,” Laputa, floating above the clouds. Unfortunately, it leads her and various greed-fueled bad guys to the castle in question, which had been abandoned years ago when the old race died, leaving Shiita as the last surviving Laputan royalty. (That’s roughly how the story goes – I haven’t watched it in a year or so, so pardon any generalizations.) Anyway, in the end she and her friend decide to make an executive decision on behalf of the castle, and utter the magic words that will cause the man-made structures to crumble, casting all the bad guys and treasure into the sea below, and sending the giant crystal up into space, carrying with it a massive tree whose roots have grown around it. Shiita and her friend are fine of course, escaping in the airships of some friendly pirates, but the whole self-sacrifice/human corruption thing really stuck with me.

So basically, Andy wears a blue glass bead on a string around her neck because when she was a kid she watched that movie a lot, and secretly she liked to think of it as a good luck charm, that could help her fly away from the desert someday and guide her to her real home in the stars. Since it’s round and clear blue, it would also serve as a visual reminder of earth. And it’s part of what shows her morality, perhaps foreshadowing her decision to sacrifice something that was once good but has now been corrupted, for the sake of a fresh future.

...back to Andy’s life on Earth, though: right now my thinking is that the story would open with her car overheating, and her having to pull over to locate some water using her handy molecule-sensor device. Then a guy who likes to think he’s still a cop pulls over and confronts her, and the whole situation escalates quite a bit because no one really cares about the law anymore, he’s just looking for trouble, and she’s the sort of person he feels he can target. She gets her car working again, just in time for a car chase in which she speeds off into the desert and notices a drop-off right at the last moment, swerving aside to avoid plummeting down the edge of a cliff. He isn’t so lucky, and so his car goes off the side and gets wrecked and he ends up flattened.

But – the free car isn’t the only thing waiting for her at the bottom of the crater. No; a mysterious spacecraft has crashed there, probably creating the crater in the first place. The alien being inside the cockpit is dead, but the ship is still salvageable, and Andy and her aunt together are able to fix it up. Something happens to her aunt along the way (maybe a biker gang comes along and tries to rob them, fatally wounding her, or maybe she knows she’s in ill health and so sacrifices herself so that Andy won’t be hindered by her) – or maybe her aunt comes along too (actually, that might work better), and Andy leaves Earth in the alien spacecraft. They get intercepted by a research vessel somewhere outside their solar system.

Now, about the “mechanic” from my initial scribbles... I’m pretty patchy at coming up with names so I just made a series of weird noises with my mouth and decided on “Hwona,” but that is really subject to change, so if you have any ideas at all, go for it. Anyway, her culture is more advanced, and I guess would be pretty on-par with the Star Trek AOS version of humanity in terms of technological achievement etc, only with less war-motivated technological innovation, and more focus on fields such as medicine, botany, and the arts. I don’t want a sort of aliens=vaguely-exotic-indigenous-people vibe; they do in fact look different from humans, although their biology is fairly similar (Hwona is a scientist, and came across Andy because the intergalactic space station notified her that they’d found a very similar species), and they do have some more nature-focused cultural ideas, but it shouldn’t feel like Hwonans are ‘ ‘ uncivilized ’ ’ or any of that. If anything, humans seem vastly primitive with our inability to reason and our love of violent pastimes.

For the look of Hwona and her species, I thought about the tropical coral exhibit at the aquarium I used to hang out at, and specifically about the lyretail anthias.

(But more human.)

Anthias are really cool because, like a lot of fish species, they change their sex: they travel in small groups, with most of them small and orange and female. There is always a male; when he dies, the largest female will transform into a male. Also, they’re really pretty.

I don’t know how much this will translate to the alien species, but I really like the idea of a more feminine society, where instead of a patriarchy there are councils of elders making decisions, and matrilineal families (if you trace heritage through mothers, bastards aren’t a big deal. And there’s no dispute about who gave birth to you. Honestly, this makes a lot more sense than a male-based line – also, it makes sense for women to be the heads of households, since they are basically there to care for their children, while men do not need to be with them at all times, and can float in the community as a whole if need be), and where gender is not really an important feature in determining somebody’s worth. It’s like height: yes, there is a difference between tall people and short people, and both have their advantages in different situations, but generally speaking, a taller person is not a better decision-maker or a more skilled craftsman. The same goes for coloring and other physical features; Andy expects to be judged by her appearance as an alien species, just as she has been judged for her race on Earth, but the Hwonans don’t really care.

(I was thinking... Hwona outfits Andy with an earpiece that connects to her brain, which sort of acts as a universal translator based on the speaker’s intended meaning sending signals to the listener’s earpiece; maybe this could feed into the Hwonans’ core values of empathy and openness, because translating your intended meaning means you cannot lie... whoa, that would be interesting... or maybe it’s just based on the words that you want to come out of your mouth, so Andy can lie if she wants to. Hmm. Anyway, I was thinking that perhaps Hwona’s language doesn’t really have gendered pronouns, but rather a sort of singular “they.” There would be lots of small things like that to consider... I’m gonna have a lot of fun world-building, that’s for sure!)

I’m not really sure where to go after that, or what the main plotline will really be, but there will most likely be a romance between Hwona and Andy, because that’s the kind of person I am, and I think it will end happily with both of them alive. I’m not sure what Andy’s decision will be, though: whether she supports her fellow humans’ quest for survival (in a non-violent sort of way), or if she resists them. Hmm.

Anyway,

I’m sure this was way more of an answer than you were expecting, but it was a good opportunity to just get it all out in words, so that if I have writers block I can look back at this post and remember what I was aiming for. I’m much better at talking about and analyzing my ideas than I am at actually executing them.

Oh, and I’ll probably be continuing this series of writing down my ideas in super-long posts, so if anyone out there is interested in harry potter-inspired selkies, fairytale rewrites, or multicultural superheroes, let me know if you’d like me to tag you in the next brain dump.

[paladinsurya-blog]

On the Oath of Garumn’s Gorge

Surya shook himself awake, his brow damp with sweat. He rubbed at his eyes, waiting for his quickened heartbeat to slow. The sight of Drow steel and the sound of death finally gave way to the faint light of dawn in his bedroom. His well-worn copy of The Light of Pelor glowed faintly on his desk - still weakly enchanted after all these years.  He washed his face and sat down, closing his eyes in meditation, casting his thoughts to the events of the last few days.

 ---

The adventure had started as it always does, with the morning sun worship and the Oath to Pelor:

"By the Order of the Radiant One, Sun Father, I swear to uphold the tenants of goodness, justice, and compassion.  Let the light of virtue cast away abounding darkness.  May my mind be sharp, my will be tempered, and my words be true."

"Nothing." Surya frowned in frustration - every morning since his first days in the Crusader’s Academy, he said the same four lines but never felt any different. He knew that he was still a fledgling paladin, but what was he to do? Every time he thought he was ready to give the oath, Paladin Prescott would respond with a cryptic: “Surya, an Oath is more than just some words. It begets necessity and conviction. You’ll know when the time is right.”

Surya thought the time was right when he saved those feverish people from the tree home. He thought the time was right when he helped fell Gol-Goroth. He even thought the time was right after burying Reginald Roundshield. But he felt no different, no different now than he did then. Still frowning, he walked from his small room in the church to the main hall. After all, there were hands to lay and crops to bless. 

---

The work was light and eventually lunchtime beckoned as Surya found his way to the Hungry Hero for a bite and a drink. He overheard some conversations about the Adventurer’s Guild - apparently these Pathfinders were making good on their promise to aid the town.  There was even talk that Erevan was just sighted leaving to explore the Northeast mountains with Daekin the ranger and Finnian the bard. 

“Shit," Surya caught himself frowning at his reflection in the mug. "Capable as they may be, such a small party in those big mountains could spell trouble. I’d rather lend my sword now than lend a shovel later,” he thought to himself as he finished his ale and packed his belongings.  

A few hours later, Surya was stumbling through the woods, rattling through the trails in his chain mail. The smell of blood and smoke guided him to the site of a burnt trees, a dead and bound goblin, and three sweaty adventurers to hail. They explained that Surya wasn’t the only one tracking them - apparently, this team of goblins had been sent by Clan Shatterhammer to ambush the party and find the location of a dwarf settlement nestled in the mountains. The adventurers were found by a group of keen-nosed wolves - luckily, Erevan thought to use some endemic Felicaeum Nostrix to mask our scent. Although Surya came too late to help the party in their need, he was glad to see them alive and well despite the ambush. 

 ---

The next day found the group climbing the mountains in search for dwarves. They made short work of a gnarly mountain troll; burning the remains to avoid having two trolls to fight on the way back down. With good spirits and jokes of keeping an immortal troll head, the party made camp in the mountain caves - bellies filled with rations and rabbit. 

Surya awoke at dawn in the usual fit of gasping and perspiration. He rose from his roll and walked to the mouth of the cave. From his perch near the top of the mountain, Pelor’s light shone brightly across the land and Surya - surrounded by welcome comrades and uncharted paths - felt a brief respite from the nightmares of his past. He spoke the words naturally, weighing them against the rising dawn - 

“By the Order of the Radiant One, Sun Father, I swear to uphold the tenants of goodness, justice, and compassion.  Let the light of virtue cast away abounding darkness.  May my mind be sharp, my will be tempered, and my words be true.”

Nothing. Well, it was worth a try. He packed his belongings and together with the party set out for the mountain summit. The ascent was slow-going in heavy mail. Eventually, Erevan’s owl familiar Merv spotted a large dwarven statue sheltered amongst the rocks. Climbing upward to investigate, the group was met with the glisten of countless crossbow bolts and the pithy glare of suspicious dwarves. Surya’s heart pounded, the familiar perspiration setting in, as the bearded folk restrained his arms with manacles. He was dazed as they led him to the jail.  Memories of laying in chains and watching his men beheaded, one by one, flooded his thoughts.  

 ---

Surya came to before a dwarf in neat attire and noble expression. Thrama Bouldershoulder was as suspicious as any dwarf that finds a group of elves roaming about his lands. For good reason too, as he recounted the history of his people to the party. The dwarves of Garumn’s Gorge were but an offshoot of the Kingdom of Delzoun, survivors of a massive invasion by dark forces. The kingdom had fallen after Reginald Roundshield forsook his people in favor of adventuring, carelessly provoking the ire of the Drow. The alliance of Drow, Duergar, Balor, and Maralith overran the underground Kingdom, now abandoned in the wake of the Black Dragon Shimmergloom. 

The dwarves cursed Reginald Roundshield’s name. He was a bastard King they claimed, and he was responsible for the fall of this once-proud civilization. Surya looked down, remembering the heroism that Reginald was buried with. “It is not my place to pass judgement. Only Pelor can judge the measure of a man, both living and dead," he thought to himself. "And yet, the dwarves of Garumn’s Gorge are craftsman by profession. Toiling in the sun, yearning for their ancestral homeland below the earth. Living in constant vigilance lest the Drow find them and wipe their lineage from existence." Surya’s blood boiled at the thought.

The paladin turned to his captors and proclaimed that the Drow must be eliminated, that the evils that stand before them must be eradicated. He recounted his experiences leading a division of elves against the Drow only to be ambushed and kept prisoner. He asked the dwarves to trust in him, and by extension the adventurers of Redhaven, and in return he would help the mountain dwellers to retake their homeland. He swore by it.  

Still, the older dwarves could not forget the pain and loss of Delzoun. One such was Dhama Bouldershoulder, father of Thrama and apparent patriarch of the surviving Rockcrop Clan. Though he could feel the longing of his people to return to home, Dhama knew they faced extinction if they left this mountain. Even after Surya’s proposal, Dama's blind eyes held nothing but contempt for the Paladin’s words. Surya couldn’t blame him. “I don’t know if I could lead my men to their deaths again, had I make the choice once more,” he thought. 

 ---

Thrama shared a mind that the dwarves must take action. He gave the party their possessions, and told them that if they can convince his father then the whole of the clan will side with Redhaven. The party though, seeing Dhama’s obstinance, were not confident that this would even be possible. 

Surya thought otherwise. He remembered reading in a long-forgotten text, In the Sun Father's Hand,  how a woman named Tephos marshaled together a kingdom to Pelor’s cause by proving her convictions to the King. He retrieved a weatherbeaten cloth bundle from his pack that contained his only physical memory from life before Pelor - a broken, black dagger.

 --- 

“Here to talk my ear off again?” Dama scoffed. Surya approached the old dwarf as he was instructing the younglings on combat. The milky whites of his eyes turned to face Surya as he dismissed his students from the courtyard. He listened as Surya pled the case for siding with Redhaven. That Clan Shatterhammer and the Drow were closing in around the dwarves and that they needed to stand together as allies. That the Drow could be defeated, that retribution was possible only if we stood by our beliefs and not let fear guide our hands. 

The old dwarf stared at Surya, his gaze penetrating straight through the half-elf. Surya knew what words were coming but was powerless to stop them. The spider-silk design on the dagger handle was cool to the touch under Surya’s hip. 

“Do you really think there is honor standing at the corpses of your people?” Dama questioned. The words played on every insecurity in Surya’s bones, every question of his character, every hesitation in his mind. 

Surya pulled out his dagger. He handed it to the Dama, handle first, and told the dwarf to examine it. As the elder felt the broken tip, Surya said: “This dagger, though old, still holds the poison the Drow used to kill my brethren.” 

He took the dagger back from the Dwarf and breathed in deeply. The words resounded in his mind: 

"By the Order of the Radiant One, Sun Father,"

"I shall prove to you the value of my convictions,” Surya said as he pulled up the left sleeve of his common clothes upward. 

"I swear to uphold the tenants of goodness, justice, and compassion."

“Once a Paladin makes a true Oath of Devotion, he will be protected by Pelor’s Light” said Surya, hand shaking as he pulled the dagger to his wrist.

"Let the light of virtue cast away abounding darkness. “

“But if he lacks conviction, then he is not worthy of being Oathbearer", said Surya. He positioned the dagger to his wrist, keeping his hand as steady as he could. 

May my mind be sharp, my will be tempered, and my words be true."

Surya pushed the broken dagger through his wrist, carving up through his veins. He felt the cold steel etch words into flesh. He lost feeling in his arm, a cold sensation creeping along to this shoulder. And then there was a flash of light from Dama’s hands and the wound was healed. 

There was newfound understanding on Dama’s face. For an instant, the faintest shimmer of green escaped the whiteness of his eyes. Surya saw a change of heart as the dwarf held his arm. An Oath had been made. Out of mutual pain, an alliance had been forged.  

 ---

Surya opened his eyes, closing his copy of The Light of Pelor, and stood up to stretch his limbs. He walked past a mannequin wearing a set of polished mithril armor, emblazoned with the hammers of Delzoun and the wings of Pelor. Sitting down, Surya reached for his ink and quill, wincing slightly from the bruise on his shield arm -  no doubt the result of that unfortunate meeting with a troll’s stone artillery.  Leafing through his journal, he found an open page, titling it: On the Oath of Garumn’s Gorge. 

    The Oath of Devotion is not made for the self. Devotion does not mean to serve one’s self interest, or to become obsessed with ridding evil, these ideals mean forgetting the true nature of goodness and compassion. Only in serving the good of others does one truly devote oneself to Pelor.